


Saint-Saëns – Intro and rondo capriccioso

by I_am_lampy



Series: After All These Years [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom John, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 02:42:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10527159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_lampy/pseuds/I_am_lampy
Summary: I think we all know what happens here.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My dear lovelies,
> 
> This is my love letter not just to our boys but to you. Despite how short it is, I deliberated over each word and image. I sat in my kitchen (still am sitting here) writing this, with children and a husband and two dogs needing things and disrupting my concentration but I wasn't going to dash off something smutty just for smut's sake. This wasn't something either of our boys had frivolously decided to do. Like Sherlock says, "I had no idea it would be like this." Neither did I.
> 
> It seems so silly to be writing about two television characters. They shouldn't have this much of a grip on my life or take up so much of my time. Yet here I am and the truth is that if nobody read it, if I hadn't gotten kudos and comments, I wouldn't have continued writing it.
> 
> Why do we write about these two? Because they were sad, broken people before they met each other. Because John needed Sherlock and Sherlock needed John and we want them to be loved and happy. Because their story is OUR story. Because love is universal.
> 
> And because a life without smut would be a bit not good.
> 
> Am I being too cheesy for you? Too bad. I'm feeling the love this afternoon and sharing it with you is the best feeling. It's like showing my heart to other people and having those people say 'your heart is like our heart.'
> 
> Yes, cheesy. I should've tagged this with 'cheesy writer who has a crush on her readers'
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. You put a little magical fun in life.
> 
> Love,  
> Teddy

 

* * *

 

As soon as Sherlock had started turning nasty from boredom, John had dragged out the fantasy list and begun to plan. The heat and humidity had made them both too irritable to have sex and sleeping separately from each other hadn't helped the situation. Sherlock had been in a decaying orbit, heading for depression and even meaner temper and John knew that he needed to do something, for both their sanities.

Unlike John, Sherlock hadn't had sexual fantasies before the two of them had begun their romantic relationship. It would've been the worst thing he could possibly do if he was trying to repress his sexual urges. So the fact that all of Sherlock's fantasies were things he wanted to do _with_ John made John feel like the sexiest, most desirable fucker in the world.

Nobody who knew Sherlock nor anyone who had ever met Sherlock would deny that he was a beautiful man. And even though he had spent his whole life keeping his mind and body away from sex, he was a sensual man. If he knew the effect he had on people, he had never given John any indication. Next to Sherlock, John disappeared. He was short, plain, and quiet. He was easily written off.

But Sherlock hadn't written John off. Sherlock had _seen_ him and, even more, had wanted John long before John had known he wanted Sherlock. It was true, for both of them, that their feelings for each other hadn't gone from platonic love to romantic love until the events at Sherrinford, which had cut Sherlock open from the inside. Sherlock depended entirely on his mind not only for The Work but for his self-esteem; his entire identity rested on the integrity of his mind, on his belief that he could trust it. Eurus had dismantled that trust and belief; Sherlock had been a Pandora's box, the lid permanently sealed until she had released all of those long repressed feelings and desires and like Pandora, he couldn't pack them away once they were out. John and Sherlock never spoke of the things that had happened with Eurus unless they had to and even then they did so only obliquely. They said _Sherrinford_ instead of _Eurus_. Sherlock still went to see her once a month, sometimes with his parents or Mycroft, but usually by himself. Every time Sherlock went, John sat at home buzzing with adrenaline, alternating between anger and terror that this time Eurus would hook her claws in Sherlock.

But what John could not deny is that if Eurus hadn't done what she had, he and Sherlock would still be living in a Venn diagram, each man in his separate sphere and meeting in the middle only for cases, their friendship carefully maintained, all of the terrible lies and betrayals that existed between them keeping them from the easy, carefree companionship of the early years of their friendship. They had gained that back now, as well as lifelong love, domestic bliss (usually) and even a family, raising Rosie together.

And sex. They had sex now. _Sherlock_ had sex now. Sometimes when Sherlock was above him or underneath him or on his knees in front of him, John could not believe such a beautiful man who could've had anyone he wanted – man or woman – chose John. He mentioned it once, just a casual comment and it had annoyed Sherlock as he had known it might. _Sexual attraction is only partially based on each partners' physical attributes; we have five senses, not just one. What you look like is almost laughably unimportant. You stimulate my neocortex just as much as you do my senses._ When John had looked back down at his book, not reading, the sharp sting of hearing Sherlock say his looks were _laughably unimportant_ , Sherlock had said sharply _Stop sulking. Sometimes I have to keep my eyes off of you or all we would ever do is have sex._ John had smiled without looking up from his book, ridiculously pleased at the lavish compliment. Sherlock did not do _nice_ nor give platitudes. A compliment like that was sincerely felt. John had said nothing and gone back to reading his book, his whole body flushed with the pleasure of being the object of Sherlock's desire. They had sat there for about ten or fifteen minutes before Sherlock had said _John. Come here_ , his voice low and rough with want and John had complied, both of them undressing silently, watching each other, already hard by the time Sherlock pulled John onto his lap, John's knees on either side of Sherlock's thighs and they had kissed, Sherlock's lips and tongue and hands traveling greedily over John's body before he had taken John's erection in one hand, his other hand behind John's neck so that Sherlock's lips were against John's ear and murmured encouragements, some filthy, some tender, until John had come with his forehead pressed against Sherlock's. They had kissed and then Sherlock had pulled back to look at John and said smugly _still having doubts?_

* * *

 

The rest of Sherlock's fantasy, after the part where he was drugged and kidnapped by a beautiful stranger went something like _I wake up in a stranger's bed, blindfolded and tied down and spend twenty-four hours being sexually pleasured until I'm milked dry and then drugged and deposited back in my bed where I wake up wondering if it was all a dream._

When John had made the decision to go through with that fantasy, he had decided that after Sherlock woke up the two of them would enact John's fantasy: Saint-Saëns. He had bought a [kit](https://smile.amazon.com/Graduated-Dilators-Lightweight-Slippery-Lubricant/dp/B01NCXCO7C/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1_a_it?ie=UTF8&qid=1491143040&sr=8-1-fkmr0&keywords=graduated+anal+bulbs) off of Amazon, ostensibly for men with poor pelvic floor tension, chronic prostatitis, or other maladies requiring graduated anal dilators but John was pretty confident that most of the customers who purchased the kit were in the same situation as he was. Namely, they wanted to get fucked up the arse for the first time and wanted to minimize the pain.

He had been so aroused the whole week before, walking around with something up his arse, that he had been tempted to skip the fantasy enactment and gone straight to the sex, but Sherlock was bored and bored Sherlock was _a bit not good_.

"John?" Sherlock said, and John blinked twice, bringing himself back to the present. "You said you had a diagram."

"Right. Erm, here," John said, pulling it out of the bag on the floor that contained the lube and the three largest anal dilators just in case they needed more help than what Sherlock's fingers could provide.

The diagram in question was a cross-section of a man that John had brought from the surgery. It showed the location of the prostate. Sherlock looked at it for about three seconds.

"Okay, got it," Sherlock said and then looked back at John with those greedy eyes. "Can we do it face to face because I want to watch you."

Just hearing that made the heat pooling in John's chest and gut and between his legs flame higher.

"We can. But, well. You'll need to put a pillow under my hips, I think. If I'm on my back I won't have as much control. You'll have all the control. You'll have to be patient. _Very_ patient. Are you ready?" John asked.

"No, I'm going to need another ten years," Sherlock said sarcastically.

Smiling, John pulled out the bottle of water-based lubricant he had bought when he bought all his other goodies. He handed it to Sherlock, and then lay back on the bed, throwing a pillow at Sherlock, and hitting him in the face. Sherlock glared at him and then positioned the pillow under John's hips. John smiled at the look of concentration on Sherlock's face.

"Oi, you. Relax. In a few weeks, we'll actually get to do this spontaneously. Well. So long as we have a sufficient quantity of lube."

"Are _you_ ready?" Sherlock asked, holding the bottle of lube in one hand, the other hand resting on John's knee.

"Can I take a picture of you? I don't have a mind palace," John said.

"You're an idiot. I don't know why I like you," Sherlock said, squeezing lube onto his fingers. "My God, this stuff is slippery."

"Yeah, that's the point."

"Shut up. I won't fuck you if you keep talking."

"Ha! That's a lie. I could recite the Magna Carta and I have no doubt you would be perfectly capable of fucking me."

"My, aren't we arrogant. Arrogant _and_ cheeky," Sherlock said, his hand disappearing between John's thighs.

John gasped as Sherlock's finger moved into place, circling around his hole gently and then carefully pushing inside, easily sinking past the resistance.

"You can do the second one," John said, his breath hitching slightly as he spoke.

"Already?" Sherlock asked, a little surprised.

"I've been prepping all week."

"Oh," Sherlock said, the word one long breath.

He slipped the second finger in and John gasped. Sherlock froze.

"No, no, keep going. It feels good," John said, waving one hand in dismissive gesture.

"It's on the anterior side from this position, right?" Sherlock asked, not needing to clarify for John what he meant by _it_.

John nodded. Sherlock probed forward and up and John's hips lifted slightly up off the pillow.

"Yep. Right there," he gasped.

He opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock who looked almost predatory, the way he was staring at John, alternating between John's face and his arse. Sherlock began moving his fingers around, exploring, pressing up and down and around and in and out and many, many other prepositions that had John panting, his head thrown back on the pillow and his hips pushing against Sherlock's hand.

"Ready for me?" Sherlock asked, his voice low and hoarse. He was breathing heavily, too. Not quite panting but close. John tensed up a little when Sherlock's fingers slipped out and then again when he heard Sherlock open the bottle back up.

Sherlock moved into position and John felt the head of his penis pressed against John's entrance.

"You're tensing up, John," Sherlock said. "Look at me."

John looked at him.

"Take a deep breath and then let it out when you feel me pushing in."

John took a deep breath and then let it out, bearing down as Sherlock pushed his way in past the first resistance.

"If I had to choose between The Work and you, John, I would choose you," Sherlock said, his voice barely above a whisper, sinking in past the second ring of muscle.

The pain John had expected didn't come. He felt full, like Sherlock had taken everything John had to give and was now giving it back, filling him up with it.

"That is how much I love you," Sherlock said, his voice so deep that John imagined he could feel it rumbling throughout his entire body.

"Always you," Sherlock whispered, and before John could even process the words through the fog of his hunger, Sherlock was anchored inside him.

"You were right." His voice was a gasp. "You are the center of my universe."

John smiled, self-satisfied, and when Sherlock's mouth landed on his, he murmured against Sherlock's lips, "I know."

Everything was still and quiet except for their hitching breaths. John wanted to close his eyes but Sherlock held him pinned in place with his gaze.

John ground his hips against Sherlock and the effect was instant. Sherlock pulled out only a little and then rocked against John and then he was leaning forward, his hands on either side of John's shoulders, the pillow keeping them connected. John pushed himself up on his elbows to meet Sherlock.

And then they were moving together, the pace slow, eager, their bodies heavy with lust and love, joy and appetite, their lips meeting and parting. Sherlock's teeth bit at John's throat like he would devour him after all.

"I had no idea," Sherlock gasped against John's cheek. "I had no idea it would be like this."

And then he pulled back and grasped John's hips and stopped being careful and gentle and John felt close to coming himself watching Sherlock grinding forward and then leaning back, forward and back, deep in, shallow out, his face and chest flushed pink, burying himself deep, deep, deeper inside John, his hand suddenly gripping John's cock, stroking John in time with his thrusts.

When Sherlock came, he sounded like he had that first time, two months into their relationship when John had broken through Sherlock's fear of not being able to have an orgasm after decades of deprivation, John pulling the orgasm out slowly, like taffy, just as he pulled the sound of Sherlock's orgasm out of his throat and Sherlock had completely unraveled above him and John had thought _we were broken and now we're whole_.

Sherlock said John's name once and then twice, his name a plea, a whisper, a growl, holding more meaning than one simple name should be capable of holding. John's name guided Sherlock through the last trace of his orgasm; he was anchored impossibly deep in John's body as he shuddered to the end, his hand never losing the rhythm as it scaled John's cock, up and down, thumb circling over the head.

"I don't need a mind palace to remember the way you look right now," Sherlock said, his voice impossibly hoarse and raw.

He stayed settled inside John as John came; when John's body convulsed around his cock Sherlock moaned out, "Jesus Christ, John. You're going to make me come again."

It was a ridiculous moment, an unbelievable moment, like confessing his love all over again, open and naked and raw, with Sherlock looking at John like he had already written the story of the rest of their lives with those words _I'm in love with you_.

"You're so beautiful," Sherlock said. "I love to look at you when you're like this, all undone and flushed and breathing hard. You're incredibly sexy."

"Flatterer," John said, his head dropping back on the pillow. Sherlock still had his hand around John's cock.

Sherlock slipped out slowly and John felt his semen drip out along with him, the feeling erotic and brand new. Sherlock laid himself down next to John and turned himself so they were face to face. Their legs tangled together and Sherlock slipped his hands through John's hair, his fingers pressing firmly but moving slowly, almost like he was petting John. He cupped the back of John's neck and pulled his head forward. They kissed; it never got old, kissing Sherlock.

"Being inside you made me realize how completely you trust me."

"I love you," John said, smiling in that way that was mostly in his eyes.

"Can we go again?" Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh, absolutely. But this time you'll be underneath me," John said, moving to his knees.

"But I – "

"I'm not going to fuck you. It'll just be my fingers. I know what I'm doing, Sherlock. I'm a doctor, remember?"

"Oh," Sherlock said, the word bursting out of him. "Brahms Violin Sonata No. 3"

"Really?" John said, rubbing his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. "That's one of your fantasies? Doctor and patient? I don't remember seeing that on the list."

"Oh, shut up," Sherlock said sullenly and John leaned over him and grabbed the bag of goodies.

"This is too easy," John said. "I can't even – "

"Don't you dare laugh!" Sherlock said.

"C'mon, Sherlock, let me hear you say _Dr. Watson, I'm here for my prostate exam,_ " John said biting his lips.

"No," Sherlock said flatly.

"Well, you have to call me Dr. Watson if you want to play."

Sherlock very much did want to play, he realized. He wanted John's fingers inside of him and John's cock, too. He hadn't wanted it at all, ever, but seeing the way John had moaned and writhed and gasped when Sherlock was inside him made Sherlock suddenly and desperately want it.

"Dr. Watson," Sherlock said flatly, like he was bored. "I'm here for my prostate exam."

It was obvious by the darkness of his eyes and the way he licked his lips that he was anything but bored.

"Oh, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," John said, laughing, but already getting hard again.

He bent over Sherlock and kissed him, Sherlock's hands going around his neck, clinging, grasping, the two of them in their own world, far away from the heat and humidity of London and the situation of no cases and Rosie's rotten behavior and the too hot bedroom that drove them apart, knowing that everything that could have torn them apart had already been lived through, overcome. From here on out it was one great adventure and they were on it together, always.

**Author's Note:**

> I always welcome emails from readers about anything that tickles your fancy, even if it's just randomness!
> 
> archiveofMYown@gmail.com


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